


Palindrome

by virmillion



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Break Up, Cheating, Multi, but its f i n e, but they make for fun stories, cheating buttheads suck tbh, oh boy look at all those tags, the most ships ive ever done lbr, theres more ships that i cant tag bc they arent big enough and bc spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-08-19 22:10:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16543232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virmillion/pseuds/virmillion
Summary: honestly im not sure what inspired this one except that i have a particular fondness for definitions of words leading to titles that lead to the story so just,,, know that cheating in relationships is Bad and you shouldn't do it





	Palindrome

Palindrome /ˈpalənˌdrōm/, n. - a word, phrase, or sequence that reads the same backward as forward

 

“Get out. Get out of my room, get out of my house, get out of my life, you skeeving, conniving, mouth breathing piece of  _ shit, _ ” Virgil hisses. His eyes squeeze shut, not watching the sorry bastard go, too preoccupied with  _ keeping the tears in, dammit, don’t let him see you cry, don’t waste your tears on his filthy lies. _

“Virgil, I never meant to—”

“Get the hell out of here, Roman!” It isn’t until after that he breathes. After the footsteps recede. After the front door clicks shut. After the first tear falls. After the next three follow. After Virgil sinks to the floor. After he releases a shuddering sob. After he curls up on the rough carpet, silent and alone.

The dirty white fibers soak up everything that floods from his soul as the night yawns into morning, mocking sunlight peeking through the blinds. What should be a perfect scene, for Virgil to wake up and tease Roman for his bedhead, to wrinkle his nose in disgust at their shared morning breath, to just exist the way they used to.  _ Why weren’t you good enough for him, why didn’t he tell you sooner, what did you do wrong this time, you just had to go and screw it up again, just like always, because that’s all you’ll ever be good for, isn’t it? _

“Virgil? You okay in there?” Virgil drags his fingers through the knots of a sleepless night left in his hair, scowling at the voice behind the door. “You aren’t answering your texts.”

The wobble in his tone is hard to miss. “’m fine.”

“You’re lying. I’m coming in.”

“No, you don’t have to—and you’re in. Awesome.” Cursing his decision not to relocate somewhere more respectable than the floor, Virgil draws his knees in tighter to his chest, letting the rug burn envelope his cheek. The door creaks shut behind a pair of sensible shoes.  _ Why did you have to give him a spare key? _

__ “What happened?”

“Get lost, Logan.” All of the bite from his words, so vicious and sharp earlier, has drained away, leaving only a shell pleading for solace in the solitude it doesn’t truthfully desire. “Just get out of here. Leave me alone. ’s what you want to do anyway, right? Just like him. Just like everyone else. Go away.”

Logan ignores the jerking motion of Virgil yanking his hood over his face, opting to take a seat on the floor beside his quivering friend. “Why don’t you just let it out, and I’ll be here if and when you’re ready to talk about it, okay?”

“You suck,” Virgil informs him halfheartedly. The amount of how much Logan supposedly sucks, however, does not prevent Virgil from accepting the outstretched hand, resting his head on Logan’s thigh as his eyes drift shut. With Logan’s careful fingers carding through the bangs that peek past the hood, Virgil lets this one small constant carry him away on a cloud of nothingness.

“Do I still suck?” Logan asks as Virgil’s eyes crack open, irritated by the bright sun shooting into the room, unimpeded by such frivolous utilities as, say, the blinds that are there to do that exact thing.

“A little bit. Not as much, but still.”

“Ever the picture of eloquence, I see. Ready to talk about it?” Virgil hates how freely his mouth falls open, spilling everything to Logan, dumping every stupid interaction and every careless argument on his only real friend at this point because  _ you can never seem to keep anything to yourself, can you? When will you learn to internalize it and move on like the rest of the world, you writhing little snake of hatred? How hard would it be for you to just shut up and move on and get over it? _

The burning cheeks as they mixed up each other’s drinks in the coffee shop, one warm, one cold. The mismatched laughter, loud and boisterous at sarcastic side comments, quiet and reserved at grand displays of humor. The traded dates, of overly cheesy candlelit picnics, of hole-in-the-wall concerts, of theatre shows, of darkly lit movie screens in a basement, of driving to the ends of town and beyond, just because they could. His voice catches on each and every one, desperate to piece together  _ where you went so wrong. _

The light in the guest bedroom that never turned off. The door that couldn’t seem to close tightly enough. The thin white lines of bitten lips, holding back furious arguments at unholy hours. The shared nights, growing fewer and farther between. The endlessly ringing phone. The eyes that wouldn’t meet his gaze. The demands not to tell anyone. The sinking realization that no one else even knew his name. The dread that telling his closest friend would bring. The disappointment that would come with admitting to a secret relationship. The knowledge that  _ you messed up you scared him away you made him want to leave because you’re just too much work and he doesn’t want to deal with it and now he’s gone and it’s all your fault because you just didn’t want to try to fix it like always which would have been so much easier for everyone but now you’re dumping it on Logan who only ever wanted to help but here you are ruining his day again but is anyone surprised? Exactly. _

__ The door that was open when he got home. The voices whispering from behind it. The uncertainty in one. The pompous arrogance in the other.  _ Why didn’t you notice it then? Why didn’t you turn around and leave?  _ The quiet laughs. The creaking of the door hinge. The eyes of a deer caught in headlights. The eyes of someone completely oblivious. The rage in his own voice. The confused stranger backing out of the house. The hatred. The fury. The damnation.  _ The world shattering pit that you opened because you couldn’t have come home at the right time and left well enough alone and now it’s all shot to hell because you just had to be early and now he’s gone and the other one disappeared without an explanation and all three of you are alone but it doesn’t matter because at least they have each other while you’re still here, staining your friend’s leg with your crocodile tears that didn’t spill for him. You didn’t cry for him. You cried for you. _

__ “Virgil. Hey. Look at me. Come on, open your eyes. Breathe. Just breathe. Everything is going to be fine. Look at me.” One constant. One voice. One hand, still playing with his hair. One leg, still solid beneath him. One reliable person. One Logan. “That’s it, there you go. Want to go get something to drink? My treat.”

“Yeah. No, yeah, that sounds good. Let’s go.”  _ Ignore the smeared makeup and get up and get over yourself and act normal for once. Can you do that? Can you please get this one thing right? Just for once, put a pause on your never ending parade of problems. Get over it. _

\-------

“Pantone?” the barista calls out, sliding a plastic cup of iced coffee onto the counter. Patton smiles as he takes it, ever amused by the multitude of ways they found to mess up his name. There’s probably some running tally on a chalkboard at this point.

“Thanks,” he calls over his shoulder, plunking the cup down at the self-decorating station. Patton arms himself with what’s likely more sugars than necessary, along with two straws and zero napkins. Whatever messes will be made, will be made, and that’s half the fun. Case in point, the pale brown liquid sloshes over the granite countertop as he takes a seat on a barstool.  _ Shaky hands, shaky hands, clench your toes, stabilize, continue.  _ The frothy whipped cream sparkles with the addition of sugar, an ideal disguise for his jittering fingers.  _ Clench your toes. Stabilize. Continue.  _ Drink in hand, he slips his phone from his pocket and settles in to people watch. Still no response to his most recent questioning text, but that’s fine. Roman’s been delayed in responding before, so this is pretty routine, if not a little odd. The overpowering sweetness drowns out the bitter taste at the back of his throat as he sets about making up backstories and personalities for everyone who walks by.

That lady in sunglasses, waiting beside an empty stroller? She’s a spy on the run from her teenage kids, who found out her secret identity while searching for her alias. The stroller looks empty on first glance, sure, but pay attention to the basket dragging underneath it—full of children’s storybooks and toys designed to not be choked on. Naturally, this means that the woman’s partner in crime, through marriage or otherwise, is on a top secret infiltration mission that requires the decoy of having a small child to give off the impression of trustworthiness. Soon enough, a man returns with a toddler in tow, takes the woman’s hand, and off they head to their next mission. Illusion shattered. Patton glances back at his phone, which still offers no answer. He sends another text, this one to ask if Roman is okay, before taking another sip of his drink. Onto the next subject.

Two boys, probably in high school, hunched over a mini table covered in crumpled papers and broken pencils. One digs a hand through his blond hair in obvious frustration, prompting a reassuring pat from the other boy. On the outside, maybe two kids worrying about an upcoming test, but that’s too easy. Patton can do better. Digging deeper, maybe the frustrated one isn’t really struggling. Maybe he enlisted the other boy for help so they could spend more time together, despite no such test being anywhere in the near future. Wishful thinking, sure, but a welcome distraction from the worried wavering in Patton’s fingers.  _ Stop. Clench your toes. Stabilize. Continue. _

The last dregs of coffee rattle the excessive ice cubes, rousing Patton’s attention. Time to go, apparently. Maybe one more backstory, accompanied by letting an ice cube melt on his tongue. He welcomes the coldness, freezing the inside of his mouth to match his numb exterior as his phone remains silent. Patton barely tears his eyes away from the blank screen before it lights up. Some might describe the speed with which his fingers move as desperate, but Patton sees it as the bare minimum in this scenario.

_ Busy. Don’t text this number again. _

__ “Roman, what is going on with you today?” Patton mutters to himself, chewing the end of his straw. First that stranger appearing in Roman’s brother’s house, looking so upset for some reason. Maybe he had something against two boys being together, but that’s hardly any of Patton’s business. He rattles off a series of question marks to Roman before letting his eyes scan over the dwindling crowd in the coffee shop once more. The tiny bell over the door chimes as a new pair walks in, some guy dressed in unnecessarily fancy garb, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, and—

And him.

The guy that walked in on him and Roman.

Patton stiffens, turning to face a window and avoiding eye contact.  _ Clench your toes. Stabilize. Clench your toes. Stabilize. Clench your toes. Stabilize. Continue.  _ Whatever that guy has up his sleeves in terms of pent up rage, Patton would rather not meet it. As luck would have it, his method of ‘sit still until the danger passes’ fails spectacularly. Shocking, truly.

“I need to run next door for a minute, but you’re welcome to wait here if you want. In and out, just three books, I promise,” a voice murmurs behind Patton, followed by that same guy slouching into a free barstool two spots down from Patton. The voice evidently belongs to the well-dressed one, who ducks out under the bell again, heading for the bookstore down the street. Patton feels the uncomfortable silence stretching out, spanning miles and acres and countries and continents and galaxies and inches.

“Why did you do it?” the guy whispers. His voice cracks on the second word, barely audible on the next three. “Why?”

“Hand to my heart, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Patton says, swiveling on his stool to face the stranger.

“You know damn well what I’m talking about, so just spit it out.” The malice in his voice sends Patton reeling backwards, clutching the edge of the seat before he can topple off. His other hand places the empty cup on the counter.

“I promise you, all I know is my boyfriend and I—”

“ _ Your  _ boyfriend? Are you  _ kidding  _ me?” The stranger slams his drink down, jerking his head around to glare at Patton out of the corner of his eye.

“No? My boyfriend took me to his brother’s apartment—” Patton pauses as the stranger barks out a laugh. “—and in you walk, looking angry for no reason. I feel like I’m not really the one who needs to explain themselves here.”

“His brother. He couldn’t even give you a name,” he says, looking back at his iced drink. The cubes settle, a sound loud enough to jolt him into a straight back. His slouch returns as he turns to Patton. “Virgil, by the way. And he wasn’t just your boyfriend.”

“I mean, it really wasn’t much more than that,” Patton says with a laugh. “My name’s Patton, but ‘just my boyfriend?’ It’s not like engagement was on the table, so I don’t—”

“I don’t mean ‘just’ as a way to minimize your relationship.” Virgil scooches over the two empty chairs to stick a hand out to Patton. “Let me re-introduce myself. My name’s Virgil, and my boyfriend’s name is Roman.  _ Was _ Roman. Not so nice to meet you, no offense.”

“Sorry, I’m not sure I understand.” A confused smile drifts over Patton’s face, a mask that betrays how hard his mind is working to deny what Virgil is saying. “ _ I’m _ dating Roman.”

“If you’re still dating Roman, I wish you well, but just keep an eye on him. I know I would, anyway.” Virgil brings his drink to his lips, downing half of it in one go.

“Did—do you mean—were you guys—he was using me?”

“He was using  _ us _ ,” Virgil corrects. “Up to you if you want to let him keep doing that.”

“Over his dead body,” Patton says, pulling his phone out. No new messages, not even a response to his concerned question marks. He taps out a furious note to Roman before clicking the lock button and sliding the phone back. “Are you okay? How long were you two together?”

Virgil stares into his half empty cup for a long while. “Two years.”

Something inside of Patton tingles and shatters at the resignation in Virgil’s voice. “Oh, Virgil, I’m so sorry, that’s awful.”

“Yeah, well. Happens, y’know?”

“No, I don’t know, because that absolutely shouldn’t happen. That was rotten of him, and I was only with Roman for a couple months. He told me we were fine to use his brother’s house—your house, I guess, since you were supposed to be on vacation. I had no idea, is there anything I can do?”

“You can let me drown my sorrows in my coffee.”

“Done and done.” Patton is out of his seat and at the cash register in a flash, ordering another pair of his cavity-inducing sugar concoctions. Virgil doesn’t even smile at the cup that Patton places before him. “Do you want to talk about it? Can I help at all?”

“I’d really rather wallow. My friend Logan is supposed to be back soon, he was gonna help me get over it.”  _ Get over it, _ Patton thinks,  _ ridiculous. _ His fingers twitch, more out of anger than nerves.  _ Clench your toes, stabilize, continue. _

“Text your friend, tell him you’ve got a date.”

“And who might that be, oh wise stranger?”

“Me. Patton. Thought I said that, but still. I’m going to show you a good time, one that cheating skunk could never hope to live up to.” Patton extends a hand to Virgil, watching the hesitation in his eyes flicker between accepting Patton’s offer or rejecting it.

“We’ll see about that. My definition of a good time isn’t exactly mainstream.”

“Neither was Roman’s, so the bar is pretty low. Get your drink and let’s get out of here.” Virgil hesitates, each hand clasping a cup.

“You know, my parents always told me to not get in vans with strangers. Got any vans?”

“Got any guts?” Patton offers a wry grin. “Don’t you trust me?” Virgil twists his mouth to the side, squinting doubtfully. “Previous encounters excluded, for which I intend to make up. Come on, just let me spoil a new friend that deserves a happy day.”

“A new friend. Sure.” With thumbs fast enough to rival Patton’s own, Virgil jots off something to his friend, still yet to return from the bookstore. “Let’s go.”

\-------

_ Ten minutes. _

__ It was a mistake. Roman messed up, and now Virgil’s pissed at him, and Patton has no idea what’s going on. He rejects the call from the latter, placing his phone face down on the curb. Down the road, a car beeps at him, which isn’t a terrible offense, to be fair. Some guy sitting by the side of the road in front of a silent house can be a reasonable cause for concern in the right circumstances. His phone chimes again as the car whizzes by, more insistent this time.

“Hey, Patton.” His voice slips into its usual cool demeanor, completely unaffected by the whimpering building behind him. “Yeah, he was just being weird, I don’t know. Vacation ended early, I guess. No, no, I’ll let you know. Yeah. Yeah. Uh-huh. Sure, that should work. I’ll let you know, you too, bye.” Roman blinks at the ground beneath him, a significant distance paced away from the house. He doesn’t really remember getting up, but it’s fine, since he’s not really supposed to be hanging around Virgil, anyway. Give it some time, it’ll blow over, and Virgil will be back again. Old hat with a new ribbon.

_ One hour. _

__ The eerie silence of his phone throws Roman for a loop as he messes around with his computer at home. At the very least, he would have expected an angry text, a missed call,  _ something  _ to indicate Virgil was still alive. Maybe if he just goes over to check—

His rudimentary plans interrupt themselves as the phone chimes, something from Patton. Roman grins at the goofy selfie before sending back his own, immediately forgetting whatever it was he had been getting ready to do. It probably wasn’t that important, anyway, if he couldn’t remember.

_ One evening. _

__ Roman lies by himself in the dark, letting the white noise of the radio swim through his head as he stares at the senseless shapes dancing across the ceiling. Still no word from Virgil. A twinge of regret pangs in his chest, a hollow sound that echoes louder than the music, more of a nuisance than a distraction.  _ Just give it some time _ , he tells himself,  _ Virgil will be back. He has to come back. He wouldn’t just leave you alone. _

__ He turns onto his side, reaching an arm across the empty mattress. Only cold greets him, replacing the familiar warmth of another person to hold close. He could call Patton, but he doesn’t. He should call Virgil, but he doesn’t. The blankets weigh heavy on his shoulder, a small semblance of comfort to shield himself from solitude. Weariness tugs at his eyelids, begging for sleep, begging to give the day up and fix it tomorrow. The dryness in his eyes burns. Roman wonders briefly why his thumbs are tapping out a text to Patton of their own volition. He ponders why he doesn’t stop them as they lace a harsher connotation through their letters.

_ One night. _

__ The sun warms his face, trumpeting the arrival of a new day. What would be a nice, peaceful alarm clock, had Roman slept at all. Maybe if he weren’t so preoccupied with wallowing in self-pity, he would have gotten some rest, but that certainly isn’t the case as it stands. His phone lights up on the unrumpled pillow beside him, a slew of messages from Patton streaming in, confused and hurt. The snarky replies are gratifying, if a bit impolite, but Roman can’t find it in himself to care. If Virgil won’t bother talking to him, why should he bother with Patton? Exactly, he shouldn’t, because it isn’t his problem. Cut it off at the source. Problem solved.

Roman shifts under the blankets, ignoring the uncomfortable chill as the emptiness of the other side of the mattress sucks him down. Easier than dealing with them, that’s for sure.

\-------

“Happy one-month-iversary!” Patton sings, strolling through Virgil’s front door with a candle on a cupcake.

“You have the most arbitrary celebrations, you know that?” Virgil says, setting his computer on the table and moving his legs to make space for Patton on the couch.

“We could celebrate it being a month and a half since that cheating snot broke your heart, or a month and a half plus a day since I was so lucky to meet you, if you prefer.” Patton laughs at Virgil’s poked-out tongue and squinting eyes, a fruitless attempt at feigned annoyance.

“Just get over here, loser,” Virgil mumbles. As a soft pink spreads across Virgil’s face, Patton grins, placing the cupcake on a table before suffocating Virgil in a hug.

“How’re you doing, though? Truthfully, not what you think I want to hear.” Virgil digs his chin into Patton’s shoulder, pausing for a beat too long before answering.

“He texted me.” Patton’s stiffening spine is more than enough of a cue for Virgil to draw back, holding out his phone to display just such a message. Just such a string of messages, actually, growing by the minute. Words of apology, of making a mistake, of regrets, of pleas for forgiveness and understanding of its refusal and frantic words begging to talk, to text, to even open the messages, anything at all.

“You don’t have to answer these. You don’t. If you don’t want to deal with him, nothing is forcing you to, and I will beat him back with a bat if he doesn’t leave you alone.” Patton’s grip on Virgil’s phone tightens as more texts stream through, fragments of explanations and reasoning. “No one can make you answer him but you.”

“I know, but I think—I think I want to. I think I want to be able to move on.” Virgil takes Patton’s accusatory remarks in stride as they pore over the words together, not responding until the texts stop. “Do I—ah, crap, what am I supposed to say?”

Patton scratches under his glasses, considering. “Something about appreciating him explaining himself, but you don’t have to forgive him if you don’t want to. You can accept an apology without forgiving the person for what they did.” Virgil nods, typing and deleting, typing, deleting, typing out a concise response that conveys as little emotion as possible.

“You send it. I can’t.” Patton dutifully taps the ‘send’ button before handing the phone back to Virgil, who tosses it to the other end of the couch. “Love you, Pat.”

“Love you too, Virge. C’mere.” Smiling gently at the quiet sigh that escapes Virgil, Patton draws him closer, an awkward hug of elbows and knees while sitting sideways on a couch, but neither minds, because they’re together, and they’re okay. Virgil closes his eyes, wrapping himself in the peacefulness of the moment. Temporarily, at least.

Virgil’s phone buzzes to life once more, this time with a picture of a begrudgingly grinning Logan accompanied by the nickname ‘Nerd.jpg’ above it. With an apologetic shrug to Patton, Virgil takes the phone and heads for his room, accepting the call as he goes.

“Hey dude, what’s up?”

“You know that concert for those favored musical stage performers you’ve been wanting to see?”

“Gonna have to be more specific there.” Casting a worried glance at Patton, alone on the couch beyond the corner, Virgil pulls the door nearly shut behind him. Not all the way. Never all the way, ever again. “I’ve got a lot of favored musical stage performers.”

A shuffling of paper crackles in Virgil’s ear as Logan sifts through something. “Evanescence. Was that the one?”

“That would be the favored musical stage performer, yes.”

“Virgil.”

“Logan.” Against the backdrop of Logan’s long-suffering sigh, Virgil sits on the edge of the rolling chair in the corner, not looking at  _ the bed that they were sitting on and he didn’t even tell you because you weren’t important enough to be informed that you weren’t good enough to begin with. _ He takes a few spins around the chair, waiting for Logan to explain why he needed to know  _ the band that saved you from so much hurt but not enough because they weren’t there for you when you needed them most and even with him here it still hurts because you’re just a weak little punk who can’t get over himself.  _ “You wanna finish your thought there, bud? Most people tend to explain why they called shortly after calling.”  _ Or he just hates you and wishes you weren’t being so rude for no reason and he’d rather be talking to someone else. He’d probably prefer Roman over you at this point because you never even told him Roman’s name because you were so scared that it would fall apart and now look where you are. _

__ “Be that as it may—”

“Still may it be as it may be. Okay, carry on.” The frustrated groan from the other end of the call is enough to make Virgil grin despite himself.

“Are you certain this time?” At the lack of a sarcastic remark, Logan continues, “I may or may not have recently come in contact with a pair of tickets to that certain favored musical stage performance, and I may or may not want to take you to it.”

“Dude, are you—seriously? You’re being serious right now. You aren’t kidding. You legit got tickets to Evanescence and you’re going to take me?”

“First of all, ever seen my clothes? Always serious, without question. Second, no, I’m not kidding, yes, I want to take you. It’s this weekend, are you free?” Virgil pushes off the chair to pace, considering his plans of listening to music in a dark room and texting Patton. No conflict there. Except, of course, the fact that  _ you would be leaving Patton alone for the weekend so he’ll probably realize there was some sort of Stockholm Syndrome involved and that he doesn’t really want to be with you and you’re just wasting his time just like you did with Roman because you can never do anything right and— _

“Virgil? Virgil, are you alright? Do you need me to come over? I’m on a lunch break, I can be there in ten minutes if you need. I’m packing up my papers now, I’ll be on my way in five, just stay there until I get—”

“Logan, I’m fine, I promise. Sorry, just got stuck in my head for a minute. Really, you don’t need to come over, hand to the sky.”

“Only if you’re absolutely sure.” Virgil nods, closing his eyes to  _ the room where you found them together because they both went behind your back but did it even count as sneaking around if you weren’t good enough in the first place to know whether he cared about you at all?  _ “Virgil, I’m going to need verbal confirmation that you are absolutely certain of your safety.”

“I am certain of my safety.”

“Absolutely certain?”

“Absolutely certain.”

“Alright. Okay. Good. Be careful, I’ll see you Friday then?” Virgil offers an affirmative grunt before hanging up the call, staring at the little rectangle nestled in his hand for a moment. It used to chime so readily without warning, before  _ you ruined everything, before you went and messed it up because you couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? _

“What’d he want?” Patton asks as Virgil returns to the living room, face wiped clean of any evidence indicating troubled thoughts. There are no troubled thoughts, for that matter. He’s perfectly fine and certain of his safety. Absolutely certain.

“He’s actually taking me to an Evanescence concert this weekend, if you can believe it.”

“Logan never struck me as the type to be into that sort of thing.” Patton slings an arm over Virgil’s shoulder, cocking his head to study his feet bouncing in the air before him. “Good for you guys, having some fun.”

“Yeah.” Soaking in the peaceful silence, so different from  _ the silence when you walked in a month and a half ago because that was so foreboding and this is so calming and relaxed even though for all you know it’ll all be shot to hell when you get back because that’s just how things are around you. _

\-------

_ Four weeks _

__ On occasion, Roman wonders, as he sips at his coffee and swings his feet under the table, whether he made the right choice. Losing Virgil and Patton in one fell swoop. Not his best course of action, but now he’s left with neither of them. His phone hums to life on the table, rattling crumbs to the floor. A message from his latest fling, who actually bothered to respond, unlike the rest. Besides, of course, Virgil and Patton. Those two responded so quickly, it was almost painful to let them go. Almost.

_ Hey Philip,  _ the phone reads,  _ just checking back in. I hope your weekend is progressing uneventfully, or at least that the event occurring are pleasant. With any luck, I may be able to see you this weekend. Until then.  _ Roman shoots off a short ‘ok’ in response, considering the name prefacing the message. He’d never really used a fake name before, besides ‘Charles’ with the one girl in college. A meaningless one night stand, at best. Maybe this new guy is putting up a front of his own, what with his needless formality over the phone.

_ Five weeks _

__ He’s driven past that house seven times today. Maybe he made a mistake in trying to have everything he wanted and deserved all at once. Maybe not. The car in the driveway would indicate that Virgil is doing just fine without him, but Roman knows better. He’s heard the thoughts that race through Virgil’s head, and he knows exactly how hard it will be for Virgil to fully accept the presence of that car. Maybe he hasn’t accepted it yet. Maybe Roman can come back later to see him again, to try to make amends.

He drives past an eighth time.

_ Six weeks _

__ The car remains, despite a different one appearing to whisk Virgil away. Standing silent, the house looms large and empty over the street, beckoning Roman to the front door. That same car taunts him from the driveway, a mocking reminder of what he no longer has, of what he so carelessly threw away. He could get it back. He has half a mind to get it back. He has every right to get it back.

\-------

“Did you know Evanescence was founded in Little Rock, Arkansas?” Logan asks, reading off of his dim phone screen from the passenger’s seat. “Or that they were almost called “Childish Intentions?’ Or ‘Striken,’ although I’m glad they didn’t select that one. A horrible misspelling, to say the least.” Virgil grins, tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel over which he’s hunched, waiting for a break in the post-concert traffic. Of course he knows this, but Logan always gets such an obvious thrill from sharing what he finds to be new and interesting information. Who is Virgil to deny him that pleasure?

“Amy Lee apparently doesn’t accept the removal of Pluto’s status as a planet. I think I might like this girl, Virgil.” Logan straightens his glasses to peer out the window, watching the bright stadium lights flash by as Virgil pulls onto the road.

“The concert didn’t convince you?”

“We both know that was not my ‘scene,’ as you might say.” Logan makes air quotes with his fingers to emphasize his point. “I’m just glad it made you happy.”

“Yeah, it did. Thanks.” Virgil keeps his half-smile the whole way home, numb to the small irritants of cars with boosted bass speeding past, the drunken people stumbling over the sidewalk, the teenagers smoking against shambling brick buildings. He lets Logan’s words wash over him, tales of fun facts and ignorant people and some new guy named Philip or something. The light, happy feeling remains, because  _ maybe for once things are going right, and you don’t have to deal with a problem, and you can just be here and exist and not put up with everything at once. Everything can just stop. _

“Virgil?”

“Hm?” Virgil blinks, shaking away the haze from his mind to focus on Logan’s words.

“Did you, ah, leave the house unlocked?” Logan’s head tilts to the side, considering the few lights on in the house, stark white against the dark night sky overhead.

“I left a key with Patton, maybe he forgot something here. Birthday isn’t for a few months still, so I doubt it’s a surprise party or anything.” Logan furrows his brow, following Virgil as he slides out of the car, their slamming doors echoing. The ease with which the unlocked front door opens is more than a little concerning, but Virgil’s seen it before. Patton doesn’t exactly hold the world title for best memory, and accidents happen.

Despite acting as his own voice of reason, Virgil can’t help the uncomfortable knot forming in his stomach.  _ Just like last time. Turn around, turn back and run out the front door and take Logan with you before it’s too late. Just turn around, please.  _ The pair presses forward.

It’s the carelessness with which the keys are tossed in the dish by the door. It’s the haphazard pair of coats on the floor by the chair. It’s the low sound of hushed voices just down the hall. It’s the painstaking silence in Virgil’s footfalls. It’s the matched hesitation in Logan’s.

It’s the door at the end of the hall.

Standing ajar and motionless.

The light dimly flickering beyond.

Virgil nudges it open, his heart already in his throat and choking and  _ seizing and you can’t breathe because it’s happening again in the same room and Logan’s hand is gripping your shoulder while the other is clamped over his mouth and your ears are burning and his eyes are watering and. And and and. _

__ Patton freezes, jerking up from the mattress.

Roman remains motionless, an absent smile on his face.

Logan squeezes Virgil’s arm tighter.

“Virgil, it’s not—”

“Get out. Everyone, get the hell out of my house.”

The same damn shuffling feet.

The same damn excuses.

The same damn slamming doors.

The same damn silence.

Virgil’s knees hit the floor. Then his fists. Then his chest and his side and  _ curling up and caving in on yourself because it happened again and it’s all your fault and everyone left because you still weren’t good enough and you never were to begin with but you were stupid enough to delude yourself into believing it and you dragged Logan down with you and now it hurts holy hell does it hurt but there’s nothing you can do about it because it’s your own damn fault for letting it happen again instead of shuttering yourself away because that’s the only way you won’t get hurt but it’s too late now because you’re just too stupid for your own good aren’t you? _

__ And just like that, in a shrinking house of creaking doors, everything stops, and Virgil falls down, down, down, silent and alone.


End file.
